


When the Sun Goes Black

by transiock



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, its a Ride, lemme tell u, sad and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 10:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transiock/pseuds/transiock
Summary: Soulmates aside, Potter was special. He was the hero, the saviour, the beacon of light at the end of the road, and despite their history (and potential), Draco's ideal end was with Potter winning. He didn't know what he would do if his hopes ended as nothing more than that.





	When the Sun Goes Black

I found out who he was at nine years old.

_Harry Potter._

 Saviour of the Wizarding World. Praised, exalted, the icon of my generation.  

 It wasn't until eleven when I found out who he actually was. A ragged boy in baggy jeans and broken glasses. He was being fitted for robes, and I had taken everything I had learned from my father about meeting people and took it to heart.

 Only for him to turn me down.  

 Was it a shock I was bitter? That I wanted to fuck with Potter from then on?  

 I was fourteen when I found his name on my wrist. Sitting there in my own handwriting.

  _Harry Potter._

  I wanted to claw it off. Or shove it in Potter's face. Or my father's.

  Instead, I kept my robes over it, lied that I had no idea who it was, and went about my days. Even when Potter tried to corner me.

  "We both know," He said outside potions, that fucking fire in his eyes.

  "That you're a prat? Yes, it's common knowledge."

  "Malfoy."

  "Potter," I crossed my arms. I would be damned if I admitted that his name was on my wrist.  

  "So, we're ignoring it?"

  "Ignoring what?"

  "We'll end up together one way or another, don't you want to make it easy on both of us?"

  I rolled my eyes. He slammed his hand against the wall.

  I was never a team player, Harry Potter would not be the exception. Besides, there was no way this would be easy. Not for anyone involved. The moment my father saw it he would disown me. Mother would faint. And what would Potter's golden friends think? Him ending up with a Malfoy?  

It didn't matter what I thought or what I wanted. It would be too fucked up from the start.  

 

 I spent fourth year avoiding Potter as much as I could. It wasn't hard considering he was occupied with his tournament. And then he came back covered in dirt and blood.  

 I had nightmares about the look on his face, the body under his hands. I had nightmares that it was Potter lying dead and that everyone was so shocked and broken that the Wizarding World fell apart. Typical for his death to fuck everyone else over.  

 They would lift his sleeve to try and find what unfortunate being was Harry Potter's soulmate. And then they would look at me. And then I would wake up.

 He looked different after that year. He came back and the fire in his eyes had grown. I knew he had been planning something. The moment Umbridge asked if I would spy for her—Well, of course I said yes. It wasn't my fault that they were actually planning something. And besides, it would work out in the end, it always does.

 I had to say that to myself a couple of times a day, just to keep it relevant. It always works out in the end. It always will. With Potter, everything works out in the end. He always winds up alive enough to annoy the shit out of me.  

 

Even in sixth year, when everything had gone to shit. Even when there was a tattoo on my wrist and The Dark Lord sending me on a mission.  

 

 I think we both knew what it meant. Potter had to win, I had to lose. In order for anything to be okay, we both had to forget whatever the hell soulmates meant and face each other as rivals. In order for any shred of decency to survive outside our generation, Potter had to be the hero.  

I saw his face at the astronomy tower. I really didn't think he would be that shocked. I didn't think he would follow me.

 He cornered me after Dumbledore fell, after he had seen what I had been doing for the past year, and he was still in my fucking face. He didn't even look mad. He looked like he didn't believe I was capable of that. I wanted to hex him right there just to prove him wrong.

 "What do you want?" I asked, trying to keep my usual level of venom in the words, but ever since he had seen me in the bathroom (had almost killed me in the bathroom) I stopped believing I hated him.

 I hated looking at him. That hadn't changed.  

 "Look at me—Draco, look at me."

 He had taken my face in his hands, I was trying to squirm away. His hands were cold and _solid_ and felt like the only real thing around me, and for a moment, I wanted to take him away from all this. All this shite that had been circling around our heads. If he wasn't so fucking headstrong, I might've.  

 "You didn't do this," he said, so fucking sure.

 I laughed. It came out rougher than I thought it would, "No," I said, "I just pointed a wand in his face."

 He grabbed me by the shoulders, and a part of me wanted to fall on him. Let him catch me. Let the hero do his hero shit while I sat in his arms, or better yet, make him stay here with me, away from everyone who wanted to kill him.  

 "You didn't. You're not evil, Draco."

 I laughed again after he said that. I knew he had thought it, but—Christ. He was thick.

 

 He left after that. Rumors spread that he was out finding pieces of The Dark Lord's soul. Smashing them with swords and snake teeth. I couldn't focus on them.  

 I was essentially at the top of the food chain. I didn't worry about grades, or points, or Potter around every corner. I wasn't protected or free from the abuse happening, but... It could've been worse. I recognize that.  

 I was still keeping secrets. Just to have something for myself, something I knew no one could change. I kept Potter's name hidden. Nobody cared about what was on that wrist anyway, not when there was a Dark Mark on my other one.

 My mother was the only one who had seen it. She didn't even comment or mention it ever again. I guess that's all I could ask for.

 I think I protected my status in seventh year because I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. I couldn't imagine being like the rest of the heroes, with their faces in the dirt. I had never been there. I had been hated, I had been hurt, I had been pushed around, but I had never been _persecuted._ I couldn't risk the last thread of my safety for my morals. If I still had any.

 So, I kept myself where I was. I didn’t know if Potter would come back, but I had hopes. Everyone did.  

 I started to run a radio show every Friday on a charmed muggle radio. I kept my real name a secret and went simply by 'M'. I had overheard various Gryffindors were doing the same, and yes, I could've punished them for it, but I guess I sympathized. Eventually, you had to talk to someone, vent to someone, even if you weren't sure if anyone was listening.  

 I talked about nothing. I wasn't a news source. I was... Entertainment, I would like to say. I went on about being the head of anything I wanted. About being on this side. About The Dark Lord.  

I never said his name. I never said anyone's name, but I figured everyone would know who and what I was talking about. It wasn't hard to.

 I meshed quite well into the taboo on The Dark Lord's name. I adapted well into all the bumps and bruises intended to stop the people doing the same shit I was doing. I found it funny.

 Talking about everything, even if it went straight into the void, was the only way I got through everything. I never expected anyone to respond. Until I got a letter.

 My letters didn't get screened. My father thought it was degrading to have my things sifted through as though I was a commoner. I'm endlessly grateful for it.

 It was nothing special. I figured it was from my father, telling me the next update back home, but when I turned it over it had a single 'M' scrawled out. There were stains along the edges and a muggle post stamp in the corner.  

 I raised a single eyebrow at it.  

 Maybe it was poison. I wouldn't have been surprised, it wasn't like I was a ray of sunshine on air.

 I flipped it over again in my hands. Even if it was poison, I would still open it. I pushed my finger under the seam and ripped it open, realizing I could've checked for bombs and things with a spell. Too late now.

 I did grab my wand, however, holding it up for light. I was under my covers, in the dorm, and I didn't exactly want questions about an envelope I had no answers about. There was a single piece of parchment. I pulled it out.

 The handwriting was messy. Done in a rush, I assumed.  

_Dear, M_

_I don't know if this will find you. I don't know what I would do if it did. Maybe send another one. I don't know._

_It's been awhile since I've heard your voice. It was a bit of a shock, to be honest. And to hear the things you're talking about... Christ, I wish I was there. I wish I could help more._

_G has gotten us a tent, so we aren't freezing our tits off. We have a plan of sorts. Obviously, I can't say what it is, but you'll know when you see it._  

 _Help us out, will you? When you figure it out?_  

_Prove all these fuckers wrong._

_—P_

 

I stared at the ink for a solid thirty seconds. It couldn't be. The fucking bastard.

 I squirrelled the letter away under my mattress and in my next broadcast, I prepared what I was going to say. Towards the end of it, I cleared my throat.

 "I got the letter... Don't fuck this up," I then shut everything down.  

 

I returned two weeks later, another letter in my hand.

 

"I'm fine. No worries," I said that night, "End of term is in a few weeks, busy with schoolwork and everything."

 I didn't know how to address him without giving everything away.

 "I—Er, got your letter. You write like an animal," I grinned in spite of myself, "Stay in one piece."

 

Letters were regular after that, each with a muggle post stamp, each with an 'M' scrawled on the back.

I kept all of them. He would generally talk about how cold everything was, and how Granger was the only one keeping him sane.  

 I read every word, over and over, especially if the next one had been delayed. The owl at my window had become a welcomed sign of peace. However short-lived it was.

 I never wrote back, obviously, but I never minded them. When he showed up at Hogwarts, pissing off every living death eaters in our ranks, I wasn't surprised. I felt relieved. Potter, back where he belonged.

 And I helped. I had agreed to. When he took me by the hand and told me about a lost fucking crown some shit, I helped track it down.

 Maybe that controversial. I didn't care. I knew he would win. He had too. He was the hero. He was the saviour. I had believed it for eleven years, and I never thought anything different would happen.

 

And then he showed up dead in the half-breed's arms.  

 

Everyone was a mess. I think all the first years cried. I think I did.  

 Forgive me if I don’t go into details.

 A part of me expected him to jump off and shock everyone because he couldn't be dead. Not Potter. I still remember The Dark Lord's laugh. It was cruel and high and Bellatrix was laughing with him.

 Longbottom gave some speech, I wasn't listening. Mother called me over, but I couldn't move. I was still staring at him. He had to move. He had to live.  

 

 

His funeral has been called "The Worst Day in Wizard History." I don't have any comments about the title. They looked at his wrist that day, then looked at me. I felt a bit like a prophet, having dreams about this exact moment.

 My mother burst into tears. 

So, you ask me what I think of the situation? You ask what I saw? All because of a name I never chose to have on my wrist, the name of a boy who I never got along with until he was an inch from death.  

 I don't deny I was a death eater. I don't deny Potter and I were on opposite sides, despite what we believed. I don't deny I fell in love with him. I kept all his letters, all his memories, every piece of gold and property he inherited for myself, I don't deny any of that.

 

But he's not mine to give answers about. He never was. He never can be. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> whoops.
> 
> hope yall enjoyed xx  
> leave a comment and/or kudos


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